


Corps à Corps

by swiddershins



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Gen, now with infinitely more lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swiddershins/pseuds/swiddershins
Summary: Two companions fencing and conversing on an indifferent day.





	Corps à Corps

       It’s sometime shortly after noon- or perhaps shortly before noon, depending on which way is west and which way is east. The sun, wherever it is, is neither particularly bright nor particularly warm. It is indifferent weather, but well enough for exertion- a fencing match between two companions, for instance, dressed both alike in plain white against the grayness of the day.

        Here are these two companions, then. They’re difficult to tell apart in their gear, both all white, both masked, both armed, both- what are the odds- fencing left-handed. One is somewhat taller than the other, and the other is somewhat shorter than the first. One is Rosencrantz, the other is Guildenstern. Which is which seems both unnecessary and inappropriate to discuss at this juncture.

        Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are, at the present time- the present time being shortly before noon, or perhaps shortly after- in the midst of a match that has already begun. They have already saluted one another, and saluted the empty space where judges might be, if this match had any judges. They have already taken their first moves, and for now, they are still moving. They talk as they fence, though the masks render their voices strange.

        “What did you have for breakfast?” The taller one asks, advancing directly.

        “How should I know?” The shorter retreats momentarily, then lunges.

        “What, don’t you remember?” A parry and a riposte.

        “Is what I had for breakfast important enough to remember?” Counter-riposte.

        “Where do you draw the line of ‘important enough to remember?’” Recovery, another lunge.

        “…I don’t recall.” The tall one’s foil slips past the short one’s attempt to deflect it, and lands on her shoulder.

        “Statement!” The tall one cries. “Three-two. Game to me.”

        The shorter one shrugs. “Touche.” A pause, and then both go to remove their gloves, then their masks. The shorter one fumbles with hers, until the taller one makes a noise and helps her- unmasked, they blink at one another for a moment.

        “Your hair is a mess,” the taller one says.

        “Yours is too.”

        “Come here; let me.”

        The shorter one’s head meets the taller one’s hands; callused fingers sort through the tangles the mask left in her hair.

        “What did _you_ have for breakfast?” The shorter one asks, eyes closed, head resting against the taller one’s touch.

        “What?” The taller one withdraws her hands.

        “Breakfast,” the shorter one repeats helpfully.

        “Why are we talking about breakfast?”

        “It’s the most important meal of the day.” The shorter sits, crosslegged, on the ground of the fencing court, and looks up at her companion. “Did we have breakfast?”

        “Did we have breakfast?” The taller repeats. She wants to laugh- it’s chewing at the edges of her lips, high-pitched and staccato- but it won’t quite come out. She paces instead. “We must have arisen in the morning- evidence: we are here now, not lying in bed…” A vague hand gesture. “Lying in bed. We are not, currently, lying in bed. We are on a fencing strip, we have fenced, and it is not-” She squints at the sky, at the indeterminate position of the indeterminate sun. “Morning. So. We’ve been up for some time, and what’s the first thing one does upon getting up?”

        “Get dressed?”

        “After that.”

        “Put the coffee on.”

        “After that.”

        “Say good morning.”

        The taller makes another noise, embarrassed or impatient. “And then?”

        Comprehension dawns. “Breakfast!”

        “Yes! Breakfast!” The taller claps, delighted with the progress they’re making. “Scene A: Morning. A woman rises from her slumber. She gets dressed, she puts the coffee on, she says good morning to... whomever she’s got to say good morning to, _she has breakfast._ We’ve established this much. Now! Scene B: A day already underway. A woman stands on a fencing strip with her companion. Making our own surmises following the natural- or, as it may be, artificial- order of things, what has she done already?”

        “…I don’t know.”

        “Oh, come on! Remember the order, draw suppositions, discuss- _what has the woman done?_ ”

        The shorter pauses, mulling it over. “Well… You could ask her yourself.” The taller makes a noise of exasperation, but it doesn’t discourage her. “Well, you could, couldn’t you? She’s bound to be nearby! Look! We’re on the fencing strip, too.” She looks around, expectant.

        The taller exhales slowly. “What if- hypothetically- the woman doesn’t remember what she’s already done?”

        “Oh, well, that’s alright,” the shorter answers cheerfully.

        “What?”

        “I _said:_ Oh, well, that’s alright.”

        “Why is it alright?”

        “Well, it’ll still be nice to have someone else to talk to, won’t it?” The shorter’s enthusiasm turns to puzzlement as she continues to look around. They are markedly alone.

        “She’s not here.”

        “Then why’d you say she was-”

        “I never said she was-”

        “Ohh, is she on another fencing strip-?”

        “I meant-”

        “Why didn’t you just say-”

        “I _said-_ ”

        “What about her companion? Where’s-”

        “ _There is no woman!_ ” The taller one’s shout breaks the patter of their overlapping voices. There’s a moment of shocked silence.

        “Well… there’s you, isn’t there?”

        The taller looks at the shorter. She cannot come up with a retort, though she would dearly love to. “…Yes, I suppose.”

        “And there’s me?”

        “Yes, there’s you.”

        “Well then. That’s something, right?”

        Another pause. Slowly, with a sigh, the taller sits down beside the shorter. Seated, they are roughly equal in height. “I suppose that’s something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a request from a dear friend for "Mystery-solving Lesbians Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Also they are fencers and do not die."
> 
> I was more than willing to work with them on the lesbians, the fencing, and the not dying, but, well... I don't know if you've noticed, but these poor fucks cannot solve a mystery to save their lives. Still, three out of four's not bad.
> 
> I opted not to name-drop, since anyone seeing the play without the script never gets full certainty as to which name belongs to which character, and honestly I'm not even sure that the names given in the script represent the 100% Honest & Canon Truth. I'm not sure there _needs_ to be a 100% Honest  & Canon Truth. Anyways, if I've even remotely done my job here, you should be able to tell who's who with or without the names.


End file.
